


The Lopez Guide to Happiness

by ithilien22



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithilien22/pseuds/ithilien22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana Lopez is sort of an insightful drunk. She's also really, really persuasive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lopez Guide to Happiness

Blaine doesn't know why he'd agreed to come to this party. Clearly he's a masochist. Ever since he arrived, he's been hopelessly out of place. He doesn't even know half the people here, and of those he does know, they all seem to be coupled up rather obnoxiously.

He's not even the third wheel like usual; here, he's more like the fifteenth wheel.

He actually feels a little nauseous as he surveys the room. Although, that could also be from the several cups of mystery punch that he's been nursing for the past two hours. He had thought that a little alcohol might take the edge off of having to watch Kurt dancing, laughing, _touching_ someone else - and (to be fair) it has, but only in the sense that it's started to make corners of his vision go a bit soft.

He's just contemplating getting up for another refill when Santana Lopez plops down onto the couch next to him, apparently without much regard for his personal space. She presses the length of her body up against him and practically crawls into his lap as if he's her high school sweetheart, and not just some random guy that she's met maybe a handful of times.

"Wanna make out?" she asks, in lieu of a proper greeting. Blaine can easily smell on her breath the same punch concoction that he's been drinking and he wonders if she's so far gone that she actually thinks he's someone else.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Santana," he says, trying to wriggle as far away as the small couch will allow, "but I'm gay."

Santana seems undeterred by this statement however, continuing to press closer until she's got him pushed up against the arm of the couch with nowhere to go. He considers standing up, but his head swims just from the thought of it.

"You're not gay," Santana tells him.

Blaine turns his head to look at her and actually starts laughing, overly loud in his surprise.

"No? Because I'm pretty sure I've been sitting here pining all night because I waited too long to make a move and now the guy I'm in love with is dating someone else."

Santana rolls her eyes rather spectacularly.

"That's called 'pathetic' not 'gay'," she responds bitingly.

"It's not gay to be in love with another guy?" Blaine asks, rubbing at his temple. His head is actually starting to feel fuzzy in a vaguely pleasant sort of way, and his arm is overly warm where Santana is pressed up against him. "'Cause I'm like, _really_ in love with Kurt. His hair is really soft, you know? And I think he's purposely trying to kill me with those jeans he's wearing, because his ass looks _amazing_ in them, and I -"

"Oh God, stop. I'm going to be sick," Santana cuts him off, literally slapping her hand against his mouth to stop the flow of words.

"Kurt looks twelve," she adds, relenting and lifting her hand away from Blaine's mouth. "How can you possibly find that attractive?"

Blaine makes an indistinct sound of protest at her description of Kurt, because _hello!_ has she even _seen_ Kurt lately - with those arms and those shoulders and _that ass_? He also makes a valiant attempt to stand at this point, but her thighs seem to have him in a vice grip, which is actually sort of... _oh_. Hm.

"Look, you said it yourself, Hummel's here with someone else," she murmurs, voice remarkably close to his ear. "So why not have a little fun with me instead? No harm, no foul."

"Still gay," he protests, but it comes out sounding pretty weak, even to his own ears. Especially given the fact that Santana's warm body pressed up against him is starting to have a pretty obvious effect.

An effect that apparently Santana has noticed as well, because she leans even closer and whispers, "yeah, totally gay," while palming him lightly through his jeans.

Blaine tries to stifle the groan that threatens to escape his throat and instead pushes Santana's hand away quickly, glancing around the crowded room to make sure that no one saw them. He catches a glimpse of Kurt making out with his boyfriend in the corner and his stomach twists uncomfortably.

"What does he even see in that guy, anyway?" he says without thinking, forgetting for a moment that Santana is still plastered on top of him.

"You try _way_ too hard, prep school," she tells him, but he's so wrapped up in watching Kurt that it takes him a minute to realize that she's spoken and even longer to process the words.

"Me? What about you?" Blaine retorts, long after the moment has already passed.

His gaze leaves Kurt momentarily and darts across the room to where Brittany is drunkenly performing what could only be called a _lap dance_ on top of her wheelchair-bound boyfriend. He's seen the way Santana looks at her best friend sometimes, when she thinks no one is paying attention, and he's heard some interesting stories about the two of them from Kurt, too.

"You're the one who's clearly trying to repress your own homosexual tendencies," he mutters sullenly.

Santana snorts, her eyes purposely _not_ following his. "Leave it to you to use fancy words even when you're plastered."

"Well, it's true," Blaine huffs.

Santana sits back slightly and gives him a considering look.

"I'm... Look, we just are who we are, okay?" she says finally. "Putting a label on it is just a way to make other people feel like they have control over you. No one is in control of me, except me."

"I think that's from a Kesha song," Blaine mumbles.

"Whatever," Santana snaps, clearly losing patience. "Are we going to do this or what?"

"We're in a room full of people," Blaine says, because he feels like that's the sort of thing that should be pointed out.

"No one's paying any attention to us," Santana whispers back, mouthing along his jaw while she fumbles with the button on his jeans. "They're all drunk, anyway."

"So are we," Blaine says, trying to ignore how high-pitched his voice is becoming, his focus rapidly narrowing back down to the movement of Santana's fingers.

"Exactly," Santana agrees, and suddenly her hand is wrapped around his cock.

Blaine can't stop the groan this time and he ducks his head into the crook of Santana's neck without thinking, one of his hands coming up to rest against her lower back. He hates to admit it, but it's been a long time since anyone's hand other than his own has touched him like this and, well...it's really, really nice.

Somewhere in the back of his head he's still aware of the fact that Santana is a _girl_ and furthermore they're currently at a crowded house party, on a couch, in the middle of a crowded room. But the combination of the punch flowing through his veins and the movement of Santana's hand on his cock makes him care way less about these things than he normally would.

But entirely too soon Santana is pushing him off of her, back against the couch. The hand that is wrapped around his cock continues its movement, but the other reaches up, pulls a condom out from where it's apparently been hidden in Santana's bra. Blaine swallows thickly as she tears off the wrapper with her teeth.

"This is crazy," he manages to say, as she carefully slips the condom onto him. " _You_ are crazy. Shouldn't we like, find a bedroom or something?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she asks, smirking down at him as she hikes up her skirt slightly and positions herself against him.

Apparently, there isn't actually anything under the skirt, because before Blaine can even wrap his head around what's happening, Santana is sinking down onto him in one quick motion, and he's completely lost in the sensation. _Sex!_ he thinks, slightly hysterically. _This is...we're...I'm. Sex!_

"Nnnggh," he says helpfully, and Santana actually _laughs_ at him, shifting her hips in a way that sends jolts of pleasure shooting up Blaine's spine.

"This is actually kind of hot," she says, sounding surprised in a way that Blaine thinks would offend him if he could remember how to feel anything other than _wet_ and _heat_ and _ohfuckrightthere_. One of Santana's hands has slipped under her skirt, moving furiously between their bodies as she rocks against him and Blaine wonders if maybe that's something he's supposed to be doing. But then his brain immediately shouts _girl!_ and short-circuits a bit, so he thinks maybe this is enough of a start for one day.

The music is overly loud and it's late enough that most of the people around them probably are too drunk to notice anything beyond what directly effects them. Still, _someone_ must see them - _someone_ must notice the movement of their bodies, the flush of their cheeks. The thought sends a shiver through Blaine's body and he bucks up against Santana without even meaning to.

"Oh," Santana sighs into his neck, her voice taking on an almost vulnerable quality that Blaine's never heard before. "Oh, fuck."

Her body clenches around him in an amazing way as she orgasms, her breath coming out in shallow little pants against his ear. He'd almost be proud that he'd held out longer than her, except for the fact that she's stopped moving and that's really not going to work for him.

Blaine settles his hands on her hips and lifts her up slightly, her body suddenly pliant in his hands. He guides her body in roughly the same movements as before, though he thrusts his own hips up a bit more, moves at a slightly faster pace. He's right there, so incredibly close, but he can't seem to reach the fucking edge.

Except just then, he opens his eyes and finds himself holding Kurt's shocked gaze from across the room. He appears to have stopped mid-conversation and is just staring at Blaine, wide-eyed. Blaine feels suddenly dizzy, his whole body tingling. He closes his eyes again and buries his face once more in Santana's neck as he comes inside the condom, their bodies falling back against the couch without Blaine's hand to steady them.

Blaine sighs softly, his whole body feeling weightless. He pets at Santana's hair until she pushes him away half-heartedly, climbs off his lap and carefully rearranges herself at his side once again. It takes Blaine a couple of moments after to realize that he's still hanging out for the world to see (especially now that Santana's body is no longer shielding him), and he quickly fixes himself back up as well.

It's not until then that Blaine realizes that they never even properly kissed, which seems somehow more wrong than the fact that they just had sex in front of a room full of people.

"Can I kiss you?" Blaine asks, mostly because he feels like he should. Santana raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're not going to tell me you love me or have some sort of maudlin sexuality crisis on me are you?" she asks skeptically.

Blaine laughs, his mood much better than he thinks it really should be at the moment. He pointedly avoids looking in Kurt's direction or thinking about what's going to happen tomorrow.

"You're like a philosopher," he tells her drunkenly. "People look at you and just think that you're like this shallow person, but it's like all a, a...a _metaphor_."

Blaine doesn't know if that's the right word or not. He thinks it's probably not because Santana is back to looking at him like she was at the beginning of the night - like "why am I letting you talk to me, again?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm just a slut," she says, adjusting her skirt in a way that makes Blaine's cock twitch slightly with the memory of where it was just moments before.

"That's not true," Blaine says, shaking his head for emphasis until he realizes that's a bad idea. "You shouldn't talk about yourself like that."

Now Santana just looks sort of amused. She leans over and for a second Blaine thinks she's changed her mind and is going to kiss him, but instead she pats him on the head.

"That was just a practice run," she admits with a shrug, "I figured if I could seduce you, I could _definitely_ convince Brittany to go home with me instead of Artie tonight."

 _Oh_ , Blaine thinks. That actually makes more sense to him than it probably should.

"Good luck with that," he tells her, his voice coming out low and sincere. "I hope you guys are really happy together."

Santana makes a vaguely disgusted face at him before saying, "You're like a huge dork. You know that, right?" But she says it sort of fondly, so Blaine doesn't really mind too much. She also pats his head one more time before finally standing up, presumably to go find Brittany.

"Wait," Blaine says, reaching out for her arm, but missing completely. "Isn't there supposed to be like...I mean. Aren't we supposed to learn something?"

He doesn't know what he's even trying to ask. All he knows is that he had sex with a random girl at a party while the guy he was in love with watched and he thinks there has to be a lesson in all of this somewhere. Possibly about the perils of underage drinking.

"There's no moral to this story, prep school," Santana replies, already walking away from him. "Except that sex is fun and that you should probably have more of it."

Blaine leans back into the couch and watches her disappear into the party. He thinks that's a pretty decent moral, actually.


End file.
